


Career Choices

by rev02a



Category: Torchwood
Genre: Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, F/M, Harlequin, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-13
Updated: 2020-07-13
Packaged: 2021-03-05 04:26:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 10
Words: 19,437
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25248391
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rev02a/pseuds/rev02a
Summary: As John Hart’s music agent, Jack Harkness is slowly killing himself with work. A chance romance with a local café owner could be the spark he needs to take control of his life.Reposted from LiveJournal from 2010.
Relationships: Estelle Cole/Jack Harkness, Gwen Cooper/Rhys Williams, Jack Harkness/Ianto Jones, Jack Harkness/John Hart, Owen Harper/Toshiko Sato
Kudos: 36





	1. Chapter One

Jack entered his flat without enthusiasm. The door swung shut behind him and he threw his greatcoat in the direction of one of his barstools. The coat missed by a mile and landed in a heap on the floor. Jack sighed, but couldn’t be bothered to collect it.

He staggered into the living area, steadfastly ignoring the silver and gold records that hung on the wall behind him. Promotional items from Torched Wood Record label; they wanted their most famous singer’s agent to feel included, so in addition to John Hart’s glimmering records and his cheeky grin, Jack was often featured in the photo next to the artist.

It wasn’t that Jack was unhappy about John’s fame, quite the opposite. Jack enjoyed the benefits of the lifestyle, but it was hard to look at the blond man after dealing with him all day. Jack dropped onto the sofa and began the process of untying his boots. His mentor, years before, had warned Jack to avoid sleeping with his clients—but John was a tasty treat not to be missed.

Their torrid affair was more like a stable, five-year relationship, no matter what the tabloids said. Eventually, though, John was lured away by his rock star status. The glamour of champagne and glitzy parties was soon replaced by the lure of cocaine and malt liquor, and, finally, rehab.

It wasn’t that John broke Jack’s heart exactly, he thought as his boots hit the polished floors with a thump. Jack had married Estelle while John was cleaning up his life, but John’s incessant flirting and innuendo had done that relationship in as well. Soon enough, Jack was spending all his time promoting John’s new album and tour. John was satisfied with his place in Jack’s life again and Jack mourned Estelle’s loss in the dark hours of the early morning.

Dawn was nearly breaking, Jack noted. John had demanded another session to polish a song recorded to raise money for the devastated islands of Indonesia. Forgetting the earthquake, tsunami, and volcano victims, John had thrown a fit worthy of an American diva when he heard a line of background vocals he didn’t like. Jack spent his afternoon on the phone collecting producers and background singers for the impromptu rerecording.

It was early morning and the studio musicians were bleary eyed long before John announced he was happy with the product. He snapped the top off his Swiss-imported bottled water and asked Jack to call his driver.

“I’m shattered,” John admitted brightly, before he wound his cashmere scarf around his neck and pulled his sunglasses down into place.

Jack sighed and rubbed at his eyes. He could go to bed and sleep for an hour or two, ignore his trainer’s badgering calls, and then stagger into the office around lunch. Or, the more likely of the options, he could grab a shower, get some coffee, meet Gwen for a run, and then head in to make leeway on those promotional item orders.

Jack staggered toward his bedroom, pulling off clothes as he went. He sighed and looked longingly toward his fresh-sheeted bed before directing his feet to the shower.

The shower had not refreshed him. Instead, the steady beat of hot water on his shoulders relaxed the tense muscles. Jack’s arms felt heavy and he was dizzy with exhaustion. He rubbed a towel through his hair clumsily and put on his workout gear.

Jack sat on the edge of his bed and leaned down to put on his trainers.

Three hours later, he woke up to the sound of someone beating on his front door. Jack blinked dramatically and realized he had fallen asleep while leaning over to reach for his first shoe. Rather embarrassing.

Sock footed, Jack hurried to his door. Once he opened it, Gwen Cooper forced her way into the flat.

“I have been calling, Jack!” she yelled, marching into the dark living room.

“Is that a new tracksuit?” Jack asked, as he yawned.

Gwen flipped on a light viciously. “Don’t you start with me, Jack! I thought you were dead! You were supposed to meet me for our run at 5:30 and I stood in the cold for nearly an hour!”

Jack glanced at the clock. “Sorry. It was a late night in the studio.”

Gwen threw up her hands and huffed. “It’s always something. It’s like my time doesn’t matter to you; it’s like I don’t matter to you!”

“It’s not like that. Gwen, I fell asleep. I’m sorry to have kept you waiting.”

Gwen pouted a bit, but looked appeased. “Well, get your shoes on. We have a five mile run ahead of us.”

Jack glanced back at the clock. He should be getting to the office.

“Oh, no you don’t Harkness!” Gwen shouted. “I wasted my time for you! I have other clients, you know. Clients who actually show up!”

Jack rolled his shoulders and walked into his bedroom to collect his trainers. “You’re right. Let’s go.”

Gwen’s attitude changed dramatically. She beamed a smile at him. Jack stifled a groan; anytime a personal trainer looked that happy before an exercise routine, Jack would be hurting later.

As it turned out, Gwen led them on a meandering jog through the city and ended up about two blocks from Jack’s flat building. The area was a commercial shop front of trendy stores that Jack had never explored.

On the corner, however, was a coffee shop. A woman in a brown apron was out front of the store slotting metal chairs around a tiny café table. The shop, Myfanwy’s Coffee, looked warm and welcoming.

“Gwen,” Jack began, already moving for the door, “let me buy you a coffee.”

Gwen’s eyes widened. “I’ve seen your place. You have a fancy coffee maker in your kitchen. You could just make me one there.”

Jack laughed. “It was Estelle’s. I think she bought it in Italy. I can’t work the damn thing. Too many levers.”

Gwen scowled at Estelle’s name, but Jack pretended not to notice. She followed, a step behind, as Jack entered the coffee shop. There was a politely cheery bell over the door. It dinged pleasantly.

The interior of the shop was filled with lumpy, mismatched sofas, rocking chairs, and old bookshelves. Jack noted board games and a fireplace. The air was aromatic with coffee grounds and baking bread.

The woman, previously seen outside sorting furniture, moved behind the counter. Jack walked toward her. She, Suzie, according to her name badge, pulled her curly hair back into a long tail and secured it.

“Good morning,” she said with a smile, “how was your run?”

Jack grinned. He loved places with friendly staff. “Not as much fun as she tends to think it was.”

Gwen elbowed him in the side with a flirty smile. “Oh, Jack, you loved it.”

Jack sighed dramatically before turning his attention to the neat list of beverages on the blackboard above the counter.

“The beans are roasted here by our owner,” Suzie explained, proudly.

Jack smiled in recognition of her words. “What would you suggest?” He leaned on his forearms against the counter.

Suzie grinned. “Coffee,” she offered with a cheeky wink. She too leaned into the counter. Only the till was between them.

“I would like a medium house coffee with sugar,” Gwen ordered, sounding exasperated that Suzie and Jack were flirting.

Suzie batted her dark eyelashes at Jack before punching the order into the till’s menu. Jack took a breath in preparation to place his own request, when a tall, dark haired man walked out from the back of the store. The wooden bead curtain that separated the kitchen area from the storefront swung behind him.

Jack couldn’t breathe.

Back in school, he had the biggest crush on his professor, Doctor John Smith. He had thought it was love, but in the end, the term passed and so did his feelings. Jack had fallen hard for Rose, but she had left him for missionary work in Uganda. Sex was affectionate with John, but not loving. Even his marriage to Estelle was only built on tender sentiments that were close kin to love.

This man though, Jack thought, he was beautiful. And Jack loved beautiful.

The bell behind Jack jingled and a cockney accent called out, “Ianto! I want coffee!”

Ianto, the dark haired beauty, laughed. “Doctor Harper, headed to the hospital?”

Jack turned and followed Ianto’s movements. Ianto greeted a shorter man with an affectionate handshake.

“It’s Owen; I don’t want to be a doctor after the day I’ve had,” the doctor growled, “because I’ve just come off a 98 hour shift. I need coffee so I can make it the rest of the way home without falling asleep in a ditch.”

Ianto guided his friend to a floral armchair. Jack’s steady observation was interrupted when Gwen hit his arm.

“Jack!” she nagged. “Your order?”

Jack turned back to the two women. Gwen looked annoyed and Suzie a little concerned.

“Just a coffee. Medium. A good dark roast,” he ordered briskly. He handed over his card without asking the total bill.

Ianto, Jack noted, had filled a ceramic mug and was carrying it back to his friend. Now that Jack was making closer observations, he noted Owen’s scrub pants and hospital-issued white trainers.

Suzie returned Jack’s card and made short order of their coffees. Jack paid no mind, his attention was locked on Ianto’s brown hair and upturned nose.

“Who is he?” he whispered to Suzie.

Suzie followed Jack’s gaze and looked a little disappointed. “That’s Ianto. He owns the store.”

Jack nodded, slowly. “Is he seeing anyone?”

Suzie cleared her throat uncomfortably. “Um, no. His wife died of a very rare cancer about two years ago. He hasn’t dated since.”

Jack smiled tightly. “A wife.”

Suzie studied Jack’s face. “I believe he had a series of boyfriends in uni, if it helps.” Jack glanced back to her quickly. She grinned. He returned it.

Gwen cleared her throat. Jack shifted his weight to eye his trainer.

“Are you off for another run?” he asked, assuming she was trying to leave.

Her eyes widened, a tad hurt. “I thought we were going to drink our coffee.”

Jack nodded, hurriedly, and led her to a table. He selected a seat that allowed him to see Ianto. Gwen glared and flopped into her chair.

“How’s Rhys?” Jack asked, distractedly. Owen said something that made Ianto laugh. Jack’s heart sped up; it was a beautiful laugh.

“He’s Rhys. He’s always fine.”

Jack looked back to Gwen and noted that she was fuming. “What?” he asked, a tad annoyed.

“Nothing.”

Jack hated when Estelle did this. It was never nothing.

“No, seriously, what, Gwen?”

Gwen tapped her fingernail on the lip of her mug. She shifted her shoulder and glared openly at him. “You’re making eyes at that guy.”

Jack turned his full attention to Gwen. “Do you have a problem with that sort of relationship? If so, I’ll be so glad to call your agency and let them know.”

Gwen looked chastised, but hurried to explain. “No, Jack, it’s just that I thought that you and me… well, you know…”

Jack looked at her quizzically. “You’re with Rhys, Gwen.”

Gwen looked surprised. “Yes, but I don’t love Rhys like I l—“

The tall, dark haired coffee shop owner approached their table and interrupted her. “Good morning,” Ianto greeted them.

Jack caught Suzie’s eye behind Ianto. She gave him the thumb’s up. Owen was standing near the counter, a newspaper and coffee mug in each hand. He looked threateningly at Jack. Using the newspaper, he pointed at Ianto, then at Jack, and mimed his own heart breaking. After this he drew his forefinger across his throat threateningly.

Jack nodded. Message received. Owen nodded with a glare.

“Captain Jack Harkness,” he introduced with an offered hand. “And I want to take you to dinner.”

Ianto smiled, just a little. He looked like he was debating between laughing happily or asking Jack if he were serious.

“I’m Ianto Jones,” he accepted Jack’s hand and shook it. It was a solid handshake. Jack always hated those fake, limp shakes, the ones that made him feel like he was trying to hurt the other person. “And I’m free tonight.”

Jack grinned. Gwen huffed and excused herself, coffee unfinished.

“Is seven good?” Jack asked, trying not to crow with joy.

Ianto looked at the far wall, as if imagining his day planner. “Yes,” he replied slowly, “seven it is.”

Jack nodded vigorously. “I’ll meet you here?”

Ianto looked surprised, then, he smiled coyly. “You live in my building, you know.”

Jack was startled. Surely, he’d have seen this beautiful man if he lived so close by. Ianto blushed. “We pass in the lift in the morning. You’re coming home and I’m off to work.”

Jack blinked. “I live on the—“

“Seventh floor, yes, I know,” Ianto replied, and then looked horrified. He blushed dramatically and Jack wondered if his ears could get any darker red.

“Precisely.”

“I’m on the third. I’ll meet you in the lobby?”

Jack smiled. “Sure.” He was prepared to ask Ianto about their almost meetings when his phone rang. He grinned sheepishly at Ianto.

“Work summons,” he explained.

“It’s perfectly alright. I have beans to roast. See you at seven, Jack.”

Jack watched Ianto drift away toward the counter, where both Owen and Suzie leaned forward to hear the gossip. Jack answered his phone distractedly.

“Jack!” John practically yelled down the line. “We have big problems!”

Jack closed his eyes to avoid groaning. “What’s happened, John?”

John was strangely silent for a long moment. Worry cemented in Jack’s stomach. “Some gossip rag took some photos of me, Jack.”

Jack sank back in his chair and gulped his mug of coffee in one go. It was good coffee, but it seemed tainted by the dread of the rest of the news.

“Where were you, John?”

“Look, just get here, Jack. It’s an emergency.”

Jack nodded, wearily. “I’ll meet you at the office in an hour.” He ended the call without saying goodbye.

This crisis, even fully unexplained, made his acid reflux flare up. Jack rubbed his hands on his track pants and, unexpectedly, caught Ianto’s eye. The young man looked at him in concern and walked back over.

“Is everything alright, sir?” he asked.

Jack smiled tightly, charmed by this little show of professionalism. “Work. It’s always drama.”

Ianto nodded in understanding and slid a paper serviette to Jack. A phone number was written in crisp writing.

“Ring me if something comes up.”

Jack grabbed the serviette greedily. “I’ll see you at seven, Mr. Jones.”

Without another word, Jack ran out of the coffee shop toward another shower and a stressful day as John Hart’s agent.

The office was abuzz when Jack exited the lift. Reporters were crowded in the waiting area. They all leapt to their feet when they recognized Jack.

“Excuse me,” he said as he pushed his way through the shouted questions.

He shut the door firmly when he made his way into the interior of the main office. The agency’s front desk secretary, Lois Habiba, stood nearby. She looked nervous. She wrung her hands.

“Right,” Jack ordered and rubbed his forehead, “Get out there and tell them we’ll hold a press conference in two hours at the lobby of the…”

“I’ll schedule that too, sir,” Lois replied, and dashed off to do her job.

Jack straightened up, drawing on his time as a RAF officer, and marched down the hall. He hadn’t made it to his office when John ploughed into him.

“Jack, I screwed up.” Jack didn’t stop to engage John, but continued on into the conference room.

“I don’t doubt it.” The agency was quick to deal with any sort of issue, and someone had already done the research at the newsstand. Jack grabbed a gossip rag from a pile in the center of the conference table.

There were multiple page spreads and front-page headlines about John’s sexual exploits. Jack flipped grimly through the censored photos of women, boys, and a poodle.

“Shit, John.”

John looked away in dismay. “The girl who took photographs did it on my phone. I didn’t think there were copies.”

There was a sharp knock on the open door to the conference room. Jack threw the magazine back toward the pile in disgust. He turned to greet Toshiko who stood in the doorway.

She had a laptop tucked under her arm and she tugged at her blazer. “There’s more, Jack.”

Jack sank down into a chair as Tosh opened her laptop and showed him the link to several sex tapes leaked onto the Internet. John paced and rubbed the back of his neck repeatedly.

“Were they really underage boys?” Jack asked, strangled, reading the tape summary from the screen. “Or just twinks?”

John grimaced. “I was in Cambodia. They assured me that the boys were… clean… and exactly what I wanted.”

Jack leaned back in his chair. It groaned. He refused to look at Tosh. He was sure she looked plenty horrified for both of them. Jack knew that if he looked at her his facade would crack. He waved her out. She shut the door when she exited.

“You know, John,” Jack began slowly, “human trafficking isn’t exactly a charity--”

John snapped around and met Jack’s eye. “You know why I went to Cambodia! There was someone there that matched his description—“

“Grey is none of your business. Nor is he an excuse for you getting into this mess. My god, John, these were little boys. This one is seven-years-old, according to _OK!_ ”

John shrugged and changed the subject. “I fucked up.”

“No shit.”

“Do you think the label will pull the record?” John asked, tracing the reflection of his nose in the glass of the window.

Jack sighed dramatically. “I don’t know, John. How do you think the general public will feel about you raising money for Southeast Asia after you’ve been caught,” he didn’t finish the sentence, but waved at the open laptop and magazines with his hand.

“But it’s a good record,” John pouted. Jack looked away.

Long minutes passed. Jack stared at the blank wall. It was doctor’s-office-gray because it was supposed to be soothing. Jack didn’t think the paint color was balm for his nerves, however. John paced and sighed and huffed. He took a deep breath to say something, but then never did.

Eventually, someone knocked on the door. Lois entered, looking concerned. “The press meeting is at the Langham for two o’clock.”

Jack nodded. “Thank you.” She closed the door once again.

John walked toward Jack, but stopped at Jack’s dangerous glare. “I’m not going down with you, John.”

“What?!” John roared, racing forward. He grabbed the laptop and threw it toward the wall of windows. Jack didn’t flinch. He didn’t blink. “I made your career!”

Jack nodded in agreement. “And I save your ass again and again, but this time, you’re cleaning up your own mess by claiming responsibility.”

John laughed, nastily. It was times like these that Jack remembered why they weren’t sleeping together anymore.

“Right. Sure thing, Jackie boy.” John stormed out of the room, slamming the door open with such force that it hit the wall.

Jack relaxed minutely. He stood slowly and walked to the window of the conference room. The laptop’s fan whined next to his foot. He’d have to order Tosh a new one. It was bound to be infected with porn viruses by now anyhow. He looked out over London and stuck his hands in his pockets. His fingers brushed rough paper.

He pulled out the serviette and smiled, grimly. He found his Blackberry and punched the number into the phone’s contact list. His thumb hovered over the menu before he began a text.

_bad day. im hoping it wont interput dinner but dont hold your breath jack_

He shoved the mobile back into his trouser pocket and watched the swirling fog mingle through the high-rise buildings. His mobile dinged politely. Message received.

_Maybe I’ll bring a picnic to your office. How bad is “bad day?” –I_

Jack smiled at the screen and felt a little flutter in his stomach.

_seen the sun front pg 2day?_

Jack stared at the mobile and willed Ianto to text back immediately. Ianto was apparently a prompt person.

_Some idiot singer shagging his way thought every possible mammal available? Or the titties in the centerfold?_

Jack snorted.

_i work for hart_

The reply was longer in coming this time. Jack had begun an explanation that agreed with Ianto’s assessment of John being an idiot. Before he could send it off, Ianto replied.

_Do you shag poodles?_

Jack laughed once, a brief, jolted “ha!” before he grinned and thumbed back his text.

_no to much fur to pick out of my teeth l8r_

_That’s disgusting._

_i prefer welshemn who brew coffee_

_About dinner: I’m craving seafood. Know anyplace that makes good mussels?_

Jack scratched his chin and grinned. Estelle was a horrible cook, so she relied on takeaway and Jack. Jack, who, as it turned out, made damn good mussels in a shallots and white wine reduction.

_y i do. café d harkness. u have food allergies?_

_Your texting is atrocious; it’s like writing to a primate. No allergies. I’ll bring the wine?_

Jack laughed. He felt warmth in his stomach and his toes wiggled. He felt twelve.

_wear soemthing pretty flat is712_

_See you at seven._

Jack felt the bubbles of a new romance settling into his spine. He smiled at nothing. He turned back toward the hall and accidentally kicked the abandoned laptop. Jack glared down at the offending item.

Right. Work to do.

Then Ianto.


	2. Chapter Two

Jack Harkness spent his morning on the phone with Torched Wood Records answering questions and planning a “damage control” response. Jack admitted to the executives of the label that he wanted John to hang from his self-tied noose.

The execs were not agreeable.

“I understand your feelings, Mr. Harkness,” one said, and Jack resisted the urge to sigh, “but John is a commodity for the label. ‘Hart Break’ was one of the best selling albums in the label’s history. We broke best selling records. We won’t chance that kind of loss of profit.”

Jack brushed his hair away from his forehead. He bumped his Bluetooth in the process and straightened it in order to hear the reply.

“We want to sign John into a sexual addiction clinic.”

Jack laughed, loudly and deeply. “Oh, that’s funny.”

The exec on the other line was slow to reply. “This is no laughing matter, Mr. Harkness—“

“It’s ‘Captain,’ actually. And it is worth a chuckle. I know John’s sleeping habits, and trust me, I know them intimately, and he will not agree to this.”

The exec huffed. “He agreed to drug rehab in the past.”

Jack pulled the top drawer of his desk open and dug around in the mess until he found a bottle of antacids. “He only went on court order.”

Jack shook a handful of the chalky tablets directly into his mouth. He spoke above his own crunching. “If he hadn’t killed that—“

“Mist— _Captain_ Harkness, the past is past and the girl’s family was well compensated.”

Jack paced around his desk again. An orange flavored antacid was wedged in his molar. He dug at it with his thumbnail as he threw the door to his office open. “JOHN!” he yelled.

John slunk like a kicked dog into the office. Jack ripped his Bluetooth off, and punched the speakerphone option into his mobile.

“Alright, John is here,” Jack introduced, feeling a bit evil. “Go ahead and tell him this grand plan.”

The exec cleared his throat. He coughed. “Right, well, John—look, first off John, you have to remember that your fan base is largely female and middle aged. And you also need to know that the label is very concerned about your image—“

“Look,” John snarled, “I don’t care a fuck about the old biddy fans who buy my record. What the hell are you doing about this? I am going to get filleted.”

Jack felt vindicated. The exec was shocked into silence. The mobile sat innocuously on the edge of Jack’s desk. Someone on the other end of the line coughed uncomfortably.

“The plan?” John asked, sounding much like a fourteen-year-old girl in a tizzy fit.

“Yes,” the exec cleared his throat and Jack wanted to roll his eyes, “we are enrolling you in a sexual addiction clinic.”

Jack stepped away from the desk, expectantly. John didn’t disappoint. He shouted and swore and threw things. Jack wished he had a camera.

Then, just as suddenly as it had begun, John stopped. He whipped out a pair of sunglasses and his own mobile.

“Fine. I’ll do it.”

The exec let out a relieved breath. “But I’m not doing it for you,” John intoned, licking his wounds, “I’m doing it for my fans.”

Jack shook his head and chuckled. He could feel John glaring at him from behind the dark shades.

“Excellent. The public needs to see that you’re remorseful.”

John jumped from his seat and exited Jack’s office in a dramatic huff. Jack spent another ten minutes trying to soothe the label’s bruised ego. Finally, he made an excuse and hung up.

The mobile beeped with a low battery warning and Jack returned to his messy drawer hunting for the cable. The mobile chirped again. This time, it was a text message from Ianto Jones.

_What is your favorite color?_

Jack froze, confused by a seemingly innocent question. His mobile charge cord hung from his hand. He plugged it into the wall and then into the Blackberry while he considered the answer.

He knew the answer to this when he was a kid. Why was it so hard now? He felt his heartburn flare.

_red or blue_

He paused for just a moment before he sent a second text.

_urs?_

_Red. Sometimes purple._

Jack couldn’t think of anything to reply with, so he eased into his chair and stared at the message until the mobile’s power save mode darkened the screen.

Toshiko knocked on the open door and walked into Jack’s office. She dropped into the chair across from him and propped her heels up on Jack’s desk.

“What a day.”

“Yep.”

“I hate celebrities,” she grumbled. Jack laughed and he too rested his feet on the desk. He leaned back in the chair and folded his arms behind his head in a mockery of relaxing. “John’s PA Eugene just arrived and they’re arranging for his stylist to get here at light speed.”

Jack absorbed the information and decided to change the subject instead. John was giving his ulcers ulcers.

“I have a date tonight,” he announced to his friend.

Tosh raised an eyebrow in interest, “is she cute?”

“He is.”

Her mouth formed an ‘o’ of surprise. “Good on you. One of us should have a life. You know, outside of celebrity drama.”

Jack smiled sweetly. If he ever had a daughter, he hoped she would be a replica of Toshiko. Sweet, kind, gentle, and brilliant—the perfect combination. Tosh was far too qualified to work in his office, but the budget cuts at the Ministry of Defense had given her the axe. Jack offered her a job until the world straightened itself out.

“So,” he said, following his line of thinking, “which is harder? Dealing with the aftermath of famous idiots’ sexcapades in Asia or writing nuclear programming?”

Tosh looked at him incredulously. “Harkness, numbers never make stupid decisions. They never get hooked on heroin or try to sue their baby daddies. Even nuclear warheads are less volatile than these people.”

Jack rubbed at his chest bone, willing the heartburn away. “I think this is my last crisis.”

“You’re leaving?” Toshiko sat up straight, her heels hitting the floor hard. “The job market out there sucks. Trust me, I know.”

Jack nodded. “I think I’m going to buy an island and lay in the sun everyday. No more press conferences or memos.”

“Can I come along?” she teased.

“But of course. I’ll buy stock in string bikinis. You’ll be gorgeous.” Jack leered.

Tosh blushed brilliant, and ducked her head so that her hair hid her eyes. “Tell me about this guy,” she ordered, changing the subject from sunny beaches to beautiful coffee shop owners.

“His name is Ianto,” Jack answered, surprised how dreamy his voice sounded, “and he lives in my building, but I’ve never met him before today.”

“My parents grew up three blocks away from one another in Japan and never knew each other. They lived three blocks apart from the time they were in school,” Tosh offered. “They met in England in university. The world is a strange place.

“How did you meet him?”

“Gwen and I ran past his coffee shop this morning.”

Tosh nodded, a small smile gracing her face. “A mutual love of java. It could be the title of your biography.”

“That, what? Entails the details of our romance? The one that has only lasted for,” Jack checked his watch, “four hours?”

Tosh laughed, gently. “Don’t be bitter, Jack. And don’t be too hard on love. You expect it to fail before it begins.”

“That’s not true!” Jack objected. “I loved…” he paused, unintentionally, “Estelle.”

Tosh gave him a hard look. He felt like she was boring through his eyes into his mind with her stare. “Don’t lie to me, Jack. More importantly, don’t lie to yourself.”

Jack was shocked. “You knew?” he squeaked.

“What?” Tosh looked at him exasperatedly. “That you didn’t love her? We all knew it, Jack. Why do you think Gwen harbors the illusion that you’re holding out for her?”

Jack rolled his eyes. Tosh and he disagreed about Gwen’s opinions and emotions.

“Estelle even knew.”

Jack stared, open-mouthed. “What?” he whispered.

Tosh smiled, grimly. “It wasn’t hard to tell, Jack. You didn’t want to be alone. That’s an ok reason to look for someone, but, Jack,” she sighed and leaned back in her chair, “take it from me. Picking someone because you’re lonely doesn’t make you fall in love.”

Jack pulled his feet off his desk and reached across the expanse of wood to grab her hand. “Mary was an idiot.”

“So was I.” Tosh blinked away tears. “I missed Tommy so much. I just didn’t want to sleep alone anymore. I wanted to be loved. You can’t make people love you. It doesn’t work like that.”

Jack squeezed her hand and stood up unexpectedly. “Ianto is a nice guy.”

He heard Tosh sniffle from behind him. “I hope he is. Just be open to him, really, this time.”

Jack looked down at his mobile. “I feel different with him. Even after four hours. He’s… different than John,” Tosh snorted, “and even Estelle.”

“You’re a hopeless romantic, Jackie boy,” John grumbled from the doorway to the office. “Look, it’s time to go.”

True to form, John was dressed and made up in preparation to meet the press. Jack nodded and unplugged his mobile. It beeped, and Tosh looked down to read the incoming message with Jack.

_This is ridiculous. Thinking about seeing you tonight is driving me to distraction. I just burned a pot of coffee. I don’t even know you._

Tosh smiled and squeezed Jack’s bicep. She walked past John. “I’ll call the car.”

“Thank you, Tosh.” She nodded in reply and disappeared down the hall.

_back @ u. it must be ur welsh vowels_

Ianto didn’t reply until John, Jack, John’s PA, and two of John’s bodyguards were seated in a nondescript black sedan. Jack could never remember the hired muscles’ names, so he tended to fall back on old standards like “buddy” or “cowboy”. Lately, however, he’d taken to calling them “Crabbe and Goyle” to show his pop culture knowledge.

The ride to the press conference was silent. The beep of Jack’s phone, therefore, was thunderous.

_There are helicopters all over. That’s you?_

John raised an eyebrow, but Jack ignored him.

_joys of the media and celeb gossip_

Jack squeezed his mobile tightly until they arrived at the hotel.

“Showtime,” John whispered, glancing out the window at the crowd of fans, photographers, and rubberneckers. “Time to go to rehab again.”


	3. Chapter Three

Seven that night came and went. Jack texted his apologies, but was unable to even call and reschedule. The press was in a frenzy, like sharks circling a flooding boat, and, based on John’s multiple outbursts during the press conference, they had plenty of blood.

Jack excused himself from John and hid in the men’s bathroom. He ignored the bathroom attendant, and let himself into a stall, lowered the seat, and sat on the commode still in his trousers. He dropped his head into his hands and let out of a weak sigh.

The plan had been to whisk John off in a company car to rehab under the flurry of flashbulbs. John, however, had different ideas. He wanted another night of freedom. John was helping himself to the hotel’s bar when Jack took his leave.

This was his job. He should pull himself together and go support his client.

Acid nagged at his throat lining and his stomach growled. He thought about white wine and mussels and a beautiful man with a mysterious smile. A man Jack wanted to get to know. This knowledge charged Jack into motion. He stood up and left the loo.

Determinedly, he marched through the press demanding another quote. He ignored them all and hailed a taxi. Once settled in the backseat he grabbed his Blackberry.

_its late dinner another tiem_

_Of course. Are you home safe?_

Jack smiled. It had been a while since someone had cared about his wellbeing.

_ten minutes_

Jack paid his cabbie and drug himself to the lift. It took forever to get to the seventh floor. Once his key was in the door he sighed with relief. He flipped on the light in the kitchen and wondered if there was any food in or if it would be a dinner of canned olives and moldy bread.

He dropped his phone on the counter and was about to follow with his keys, when there was a sharp knock at the door. Jack’s shoulders sagged. He staggered to the door and hauled it open ready to read the riot act to the person there.

He stopped himself, however, when he was met with the sight of Ianto Jones, dressed in an immaculate suit, holding out a bouquet of roses.

“Jack,” he smiled shyly, “I’ve made you dinner. Would you care to join me?”

Jack’s jaw worked silently. He stuffed the keys back into his pocket and accepted the flowers.

“I’m not really up for going out,” he began, but then stopped when he saw the slight dimming of Ianto’s eyes, “but we’re only going to your flat?”

Ianto smiled again and offered Jack his arm. “The very exotic third floor, actually.”

Jack pulled the door closed behind him and sagged a bit on Ianto’s arm. He didn’t seem to mind as he tucked Jack’s arm into his own snuggly.

Jack tried to be charming, but even his smile felt tired. “I’ve read the reviews. It must have taken you forever to get a reservation.”

Ianto smiled and squeezed Jack’s arm. The lift ride was silent, but not uncomfortable. Ianto didn’t let go of Jack’s arm until he was unlocking his own front door.

He sent Jack in before him and Jack nearly gasped in surprise. Ianto’s flat was smaller than Jack’s, but comfortably furnished, clearly in expectation for dinner parties. Tonight, however, the coffee table, the windowsills, and the dining table were covered in white votive candles. The room was bathed in bright light.

Ianto looked embarrassed, but was apparently trying to fight it. “Do you like lamb?”

Jack squeezed the bouquet of roses tightly. “Ianto,” his voice broke.

Ianto caught his eye and then tucked two fingers under Jack’s chin. “Can I get you a drink?”

Jack leaned into the gentle touch like he hadn’t had contact in years. He clung to the roses, as if simply holding onto something would keep him grounded.

“Water, then,” Ianto decided, “you’re too tired for wine or coffee.”

And then Ianto brushed his thumb across Jack’s jaw line and left for the kitchen. Jack followed him, feeling lost, his roses out before him like a shield. The kitchen had additional lighting, and in the brightness, Jack noted that his roses’ petals were striped red and black.

Ianto offered Jack a goblet of water and then stole the bouquet from him. Jack began to protest. Ianto looked at him curiously, before sticking the stems back into a vase, where they had obviously been before.

Ianto looked Jack over slowly. “You’re tired.” Then he laughed. “You look like my nephew when he’s so tired that he can’t sleep.”

Jack sagged against the wall. Someone knew what he felt. At this movement, Ianto hurried to his side.

“Do you need to sit down?” He didn’t give Jack an option. He guided Jack to the table and pulled out one of the chairs. “Drink your water and I’ll get you some dinner.”

Ianto’s fingers lingered on Jack’s shoulder and arm, and Jack’s stomach did flips. He wanted to pay attention to every detail, but the lack of sleep, the emotion of the mention of Grey, and John’s drama had completely overtaken any chance of that.

Ianto slid a plate in front of him and then sat next to him with a similar fare. Lamb, asparagus, and tiny red potatoes.

“This looks delicious,” Jack said, hoarsely. He cleared his throat and then took a drink of water.

“I was nervous,” Ianto explained, and Jack noticed that his voice shook, “and I needed to do something with my hands. I cooked.”

Jack smiled and took a bite of potato. “And you cooked well.”

Ianto’s blush looked rosy in the candlelight. They ate in near silence, each glancing at one another.

“Thank you,” Jack said, pushing his empty plate away. “That was lovely.” Now full, his eyes felt heavy.

“Long day?” Ianto asked, gently, as he reached out and hesitantly laid his hand overtop Jack’s.

“The worst kind.”

Ignoring the dishes, Ianto took Jack’s hand and guided him over to the sofa. Once settled, Ianto and Jack looked at each other. Ianto burst into nervous laughter.

“How was your day?” Jack queried. He turned on the couch so he was facing Ianto. He rested his head on the back of the sofa as Ianto began to speak.

“Nothing extraordinary. Made coffee, baked scones, chased off some idiot who wanted to play his flute in my shop.” Ianto grinned wickedly.

“You’re not a fan of the arts?” Jack teased, stifling a yawn.

“Not those who come into my store and pester my regulars.”

Jack smiled and then remembered his burning desire to get to know Ianto. “Why did you start a coffee shop anyway?”

Ianto sank back into his couch and gave a warm chuckle. “Oh. Well. You met my friend Owen this morning.”

“The doctor that threatened to do my bodily harm if I break your heart?”

Ianto looked surprised. “I assume so?”

Jack laughed and tucked his legs up under him on the couch.

“Owen and I were in residency together.”

“You’re a doctor?” Jack asked, surprised.

“Was. A surgeon, actually. A bad series of cases came up, though, and Owen and I had a hard time handling it. Owen went on a medical mission for some sort of balance, and I cashed out my retirement and changed careers. The coffee industry is far less stressful.”

Jack watched Ianto’s face. It shied away from admitting how bad the cases were, however, Ianto’s eyes told the full tale. “Did your patients die?”

Ianto met Jack’s eye before he sighed and began to pick at the weave of the couch. “My foster sister, Adeola, contracted a very rare illness that was turning her blood to metal. Owen and I put aside most of our cases to study her. Eventually, we found a connection between the illness and the technology she worked on.

“Six other people from her office had the same full blown symptoms, but there were something like eight hundred people in the building and all of them were exposed.”

“You and Owen lost your patients, then?” Jack asked, gently.

“Not for a long time, but yes, they all passed on.”

“I’m sorry.”

Ianto nodded his thanks, but said nothing. Jack reached out and grabbed Ianto’s hand. “I wanted to be a lawyer, years ago.”

Ianto squeezed Jack’s hand. “You aren’t? I thought you represented that musician?”

Jack grimaced. “I’m his manager. I used to just be his booking agent, but John got into some legal trouble with his last manager, so I took over for him.”

Ianto ran his thumb over Jack’s knuckles. “I Googled you at work. There are lots of photos of you and John Hart.”

Jack cleared his throat and sat up a little straighter. “Yeah. Bad decision on my part, you could say.”

They lapsed into silence. Jack looked around the room and noted that under the shadows and candlelight the room was decorated in browns and creams. On the far wall, above an oversized television, hung a wedding photo of Ianto and a mocha-skinned woman.

“Speaking of old couples,” Jack added, and drew Ianto’s eye to the photograph.

Ianto smiled, a strange mix of love and pain. “Lisa.”

“When did you lose her?”

“March two years ago. She worked with Adeola.”

Jack was speechless. “I’m… sorry.”

Ianto smiled back at Jack. It still seemed tainted with sadness. “That’s life.”

Jack searched his over tired brain for another line of conversation, hopefully one happier. “You Googled me?”

“I’m inviting a stranger to tea in my flat,” Ianto shrugged, good-naturedly. “It seemed reasonable to check that you weren’t an axe murderer.”

“What did you learn—other than about my affair with my client?”

Ianto smirked. “Would you happen to be a decorated, honorably discharged Air Force pilot?”

“In fact, I am.”

“I saw the photos,” Ianto teased. “You were a little trimmer then.”

Jack, mock offended, reared back and opened his mouth to defend himself, but yawned instead. “I should go.”

Ianto shook his head and tightened his grip on Jack’s hand. “I’m very shy and I’m not a talker.” Jack edged to the end of the couch, ready to leave, but listening to his companion. “The thing is, I want to tell you things… things that I don’t want to talk about—like that medical case, like Lisa. Why is that?”

Jack felt a creeping warmth radiate out from his stomach. “Maybe we were lovers in a former life; maybe we were partners in a secret government organization and always wanted to be lovers.”

Ianto chuckled. “Yes, Captain Harkness and his sidekick Jones, Ianto Jones.”

Jack smiled, energized by newly formed affection, genuine and soft. “I feel more alive right now than I’ve felt in years.” He whispered these words, in case the gods heard him and chose to deny him this happiness too.

Ianto smiled, joy radiating out of his eyes. He gazed down at their joined hands. “You work in a lucrative business, and from what I can tell, you are fairly well known in your career. You’re not happy at all?”

Jack sighed. “It’s not all bad. I’m known as good at what I do. At the same time, it’s like being in the torture industry. I may be the best, but who likes that kind of job?” He stared into a candle.

“I am the only one who can keep John in line. It’s a full time job. When he went into drug rehab the first time it was because he killed a stripper he’d hired. He was so strung out that he didn’t realize he’d choked her to death.” Jack let his voice drift away.

“And you cleaned up after him?” Ianto queried, his voice soft.

“Yeah.”

“And your wife left you over it.”

Jack started. He looked up at Ianto. “Estelle? Yeah. It was too much for her. I was gone all the time.”

Ianto held Jack’s gaze. “Your job is ruining you, Jack. You’re a good man, as far as I can tell, and no one can see that because you’re letting John’s habits overshadow you.”

Jack swallowed. “It’s my job to look after him.”

Ianto shook his head. “No, your job is to promote a singer. You get no bonus for bailing him out of jail or holding his hand during his court appearances. Trust me, Jack, as a man who nearly let his obsession with his job kill him; it’s not worth it. You work to live, you don’t live to work.”

Jack stared at Ianto for a long time. His words spoke nothing but truth to him. He felt like he needed to escape and think. “Well Agent Jones, I need to call it a night. I’m sure tomorrow will begin far too early.”

“I’m sorry,” Ianto continued, “I didn’t mean to offend you.”

“You didn’t,” Jack replied, waving his hand to dismiss the idea. “I still should go.”

“Stay,” Ianto blurted. He blushed immediately. “To sleep. Stay here.”

Jack looked uncertain. “You want me to stay the night?”

Ianto rubbed the back of his neck in embarrassment. “You won’t sleep when you go home. You’ll work; I know your type.”

“I don’t need much sleep,” Jack evaded. Ianto gave him a “don’t-give-me-that-shit” look in response.

Jack tugged Ianto’s joined hand closer to him and kissed his knuckles. “Somehow, Jones, Ianto Jones, you know me too well.”

Ianto stood and pulled Jack up. “Bed, I think.”

Jack followed Ianto as he led him toward the bedroom. As they past the Jones’ wedding photo, Jack looked into Lisa’s face. She radiated happiness on her big day; Jack felt that same joy. It must be this man, he concluded.

The bed was well sized for two men, and the right side was obviously slept in. Jack felt another piece of their connection slot into place; he slept on the left only. It was another strange inkling that the universe was aligning this to happen. Ianto shoved Jack back with a strong hand to Jack’s chest. He sat down heavily on the bed.

Without pause, Ianto bend down and untied Jack’s boots. They were lined up with more respect than they usually received. “Do you need to borrow pyjamas?”

Jack took a long second to decide. Since it was decided that he was going to bed, his brain seemed to have shut down. “I don’t usually. Sleep in them, I mean. But…”

With an eye roll, Ianto set to work on unbuttoning Jack’s shirt. Even with his sleep-fogged brain, Jack realized that he was being undressed. He moved to help Ianto with the buttons. He didn’t want his first Ianto-assisted-strip to be in relation to sleeping only.

“Relax,” Ianto chuckled, “I’m a doctor. I’ve seen it before.”

Jack blinked sleepily. “But this isn’t sexy.”

Ianto laughed, his eyes lit up with delight. He did not offer to help with Jack’s trousers, but did help him under the duvet. The sheets were obviously a high thread count, and felt like pure satin. Jack rubbed his hand on the fitted sheet and closed his eyes.

“Thank you,” he murmured.

He felt Ianto brush his fingers through his hair, and he was a little too asleep to determine if the kiss his felt on his forehead was reality or a dream.


	4. Chapter Four

Jack heard the incessant beeping that signaled morning. He opened gummy eyes and took in a miraculous sight. Ianto Jones, bare chested, stretched over toward his nightstand as he flipped off his alarm.

It was very dark out still, clearly early in the morning. Ianto dropped back under the duvet with a grunt. Jack shifted to watch him. Ianto regarded him, tucked on his side facing Jack with both hands under his pillow.

“It’s early. You should go back to sleep,” Ianto mumbled as he slid out of the bed, feet first.

Jack closed his eyes again when he heard the shower running. He was almost asleep again when Ianto exited the en-suite wearing only a towel. The room was barely lit by the light from the bathroom, but even then Jack could see Ianto very well.

Suddenly, Jack was completely awake. Ianto lingered before his wardrobe and Jack took the time to study the lean back and toned arms. Ianto selected a plum button down shirt and jeans and threw them on the bed as he did so.

Jack pulled himself into a sitting position and leaned against the headboard. “I could wake up to this view every morning. You’re gorgeous.”

Ianto ducked his head and Jack saw a touch of blush on the back of Ianto’s neck. Ianto clutched at his towel and looked at Jack over his shoulder. Jack’s breath caught.

“I could wake up to you in my bed every morning, sir.” And the blush returned.

Jack slid out of the bed and headed for the toilet. As he passed Ianto, he ran his fingers across Ianto’s shoulder blades. He heard Ianto’s breath hitch.

Bladder emptied and hands washed, Jack found the bedroom empty, but a light shining in from the main room. He hurried to dress. As he headed down the hall, he noted that the multitude of candles from the night before were at the same level that he had seen them before he went to sleep. Obviously, Ianto had blown them out. Ianto met him in the kitchen with a piece of toast and a cup of coffee.

“This is heaven,” Jack exclaimed sipping from his mug, “a beautiful man offering me orgasmic coffee and breakfast.”

If Ianto’s cheeks were pink then neither of them commented on it. “And here I thought I was going to have to work to win your heart.”

Jack raised an eyebrow. “Are you courting me now, Mr. Jones?”

Ianto shrugged. “Woo, court, lure you to bed, call it what you will.” Jack laughed.

Ianto drank the last of his coffee and set the mug in the sink before slipping his feet into a pair of leather oxfords. “I have to get going.”

“Ah, yes, the greater London area to caffeinate,” Jack replied, sagely.

“Not only that, but if I don’t get to baking I won’t be able to sell breakfast with that caffeine.” He grabbed the bouquet of roses from the night before and offered them to Jack. Jack grinned and accepted them.

“It’s been a long time since someone has bought me flowers,” he commented, looking into the petals.

Ianto smiled boyishly and grabbed his coat. Jack gulped the last of his drink and followed Ianto out the door.

Ianto locked the door behind them, and when he turned around to walk to the lifts, Jack caught him around the waist and kissed him. It was sweet and romantic and all the things a first kiss should be—except that two seconds into the connection Jack realized that he hadn’t cleaned his teeth in about twenty hours. Ianto didn’t seem to mind.

The walked, chest-to-chest, with their arms around one another to the lift. Jack pushed both the up and down buttons with his arm still around Ianto’s middle. Ianto kissed him again. The lift doors opened with a ding.

Soon, they disengaged and went their separate ways. Once back in his own flat, Jack began to giggle. He laid his flowers down in the kitchen and was stopped in surprise to see his mobile on the counter.

There were 16 missed calls.

Jack cursed silently and scrolled through the numbers.

John. John. John. John. John. John. John. John. John. An unknown number. A record exec. Toshiko. Another record exec. Toshiko. Toshiko. Toshiko.

With a full-blown heartburn flare up beginning, Jack began to listen to his voice mail. He ran to his room and quickly changed his clothes as he pieced together what happened.

A drunk John (supported by his time in the bar and the repeated drunk messages) punched/assaulted/beat/killed (at least) one member of the press. He was arrested. Toshiko bailed him out. She was babysitting him at the office.

Jack left his building in a flurry of squealing tires.

The office buildings were mostly dark, but Jack’s floor was lit up like a Christmas tree. Jack found his team sitting around the conference table, silent. John was sporting a magnificent black eye.

“Where have you been?” John demanded.

Jack straightened up. “Spent the night at my boyfriend’s place. I apparently left my mobile. Sorry for that.” The last part was directed at Toshiko only.

“Oh that’s great!” John exploded. “I’m here worried that my life is falling apart and you’re playing happy families with your boy toy!”

Jack snarled. “Leave him out of this. In fact, leave me out of this. You got yourself into this whole mess and these people,” he gestured around the table, “are trying to save your useless ass.”

John took a sharp breath as if he was ready to yell, but Jack spoke above him. “Right, Lois, can you get us a phone list of the press? Toshiko, can you compile a mailing list of emails for the same people? We’re going to send out one short message and then we’re taking the day off.”

“What?” John shrieked. His PA Eugene Jones winced and twisted his body away from his employer. “A little note? That’s how you’re dealing with this?”

“Yes,” Jack replied, clenching his fists. “And after it’s sent Bad Wolf Management will no longer represent you.”

John’s mouth fell open. He sputtered. “We have a contract!”

“I will return the rest of the fee for the year. I will pay you to break the contract. We are done after today.”

John roared in anger and launched himself at Jack. As his fist found purchase on Jack’s mouth, Jack heard Lois gasp and Toshiko calling security. Jack stumbled backward and clutched his jaw.

“You punched me!” he yelled. “Forget paying you, Hart, now I’m suing you for assault.”

John lunged forward and punched Jack in the stomach. Jack rolled with the punch with an “oof.” John landed another punch on the side of Jack’s head. Security rushed into the room and restrained the singer.

“Escort him out. Then call the police.” The security guards were struggling to hold John still, but they agreed.

Hours later, the police had statements from Lois, Toshiko, and Jack. John was in custody and the press was hounding at their doors again.

“Go home, ladies,” Jack ordered, pressing another bag of ice to his jaw.

“Jack,” Toshiko asked hesitantly, “are we done then? In the Entertainment industry?”

Lois looked between the two quickly. Jack slouched in his chair.

“I spent last night with a very wise man. He reminded me that life is for living, not for working for pricks like John.”

Tosh nodded, but looked uncertain. “You want to keep the firm?” Jack asked her.

“I like having a job. I’m sure Lois agrees,” Tosh replied. Lois nodded.

“You want it?” Jack queried.

“What? Bad Wolf?” Tosh asked, uncertain.

“Sure. Why not? We can work out the details later, but think about it. Whatever you can afford, it’ll be fine, I’m sure.” Jack waved his hand dismissively.

Tosh’s mouth hung open. Lois looked to be in shock.

“You’d still have a few clients. No one big, but you could spend more money promoting them. I’m sure that the forthcoming lawsuits against John will bring in plenty of money,” Jack mused. “And you won’t have to deal with his diva fits anymore.”

Lois laughed. “I’m sure someone else will fill his shoes.”

“Undoubtedly,” Jack replied with a grin. It split his lip. He winced. “Right, take the day.”

Lois looked to Tosh, who continued to stare at Jack. “And you will do what, Jack? Beg on the streets?”

Jack smiled serenely. “British Virgin Islands, Tosh.”

She rolled her eyes and led Lois out of the office. Jack threw his ice bag into the bin and grabbed his coat. He walked past both women, who were conversing in the lobby, and took the stairs to the garage.

Myfawny’s Coffee was bustling at the mid-morning hour. Two people that Jack didn’t know were working the counter along with Suzie. Jack lingered at the end of the queue before deciding to sit on a sofa instead. The queue would dissipate soon.

Before it could, Ianto breezed out from behind the beaded curtain. “Andy,” he began, speaking to one of his employees, “change out the Kenyan blend when you get a sec.”

Ianto restocked the bakery glass. He apparently felt Jack’s eyes on him, because he looked up. Jack smiled and Ianto grinned. Suzie rolled her eyes goodnaturedly and took another order. Ianto grabbed two mugs of coffee and, after speaking to the other woman behind the counter, made his way to Jack.

“What happened to your face, champ?” Ianto asked, sliding onto the cushion next to Jack. Jack leaned in for a kiss.

“John jumped me,” he said, after the kiss threatened to linger.

“He what?!” Ianto exploded, loud enough that people turned to look at them. He cleared his throat and sipped his coffee unobtrusively.

“I told him after his stunt last night that I was no longer his manager and he decided to punch me a few times.”

Ianto lowered his coffee mug to the table before him. Then, he grabbed Jack by the chin and kissed him passionately. When they broke for air, Jack grinned.

“Wow. What was that for?” he asked, licking his lips.

“I’m proud of you. That was a healthy choice for you.”

Jack grinned hungrily. “What will you do to me when I tell you I quit my job?”

Ianto stared openly at Jack before collecting himself. “We would need to go back to my flat for that announcement.”

Jack grinned wider. “I hoped so.”

Ianto rolled his eyes. “Dinner tonight?”

Jack nodded. “We’re celebrating. Get your dancing shoes on, Dr. Jones, we’re going out.”

Ianto grimaced, “Less of the doctor. I turned that leaf over a long time ago.”

“And you ought to flip it over again,” Owen griped, as he dropped onto the couch across from the two men. He snagged Ianto’s coffee mug and took a long swig from it. “I could use a partner. We could open our own practice. I hate A&E surgery.”

Ianto did not look impressed. He turned around the back of the couch and caught one of his employee’s eyes. “Beth!” he called. The woman turned to him with a smile.

“Grab me another coffee, then go on break!” She nodded and threw her apron at her coworker. Andy grimaced.

Beth dropped off another mug, which Owen grabbed from her hand. She glared at him, but headed outside for a cigarette.

Owen pointed at Andy and Suzie with his mug. “Remember, it’s the same; bossing people around, only they’re nurses.”

Ianto looked away. Jack laid his hand on Ianto’s knee tentatively. Ianto smiled at him. Owen huffed and rolled his eyes in annoyance. Jack looked at the doctor in concern.

“You’re okay with this, yeah?” he asked.

Owen emptied his coffee in one go. “What? You and Doctor Teaboy here? Sure. Where are you taking him for dinner?” The man grimaced as if he had suddenly considered his own question. “I’ve got to get laid.”

“Want my secretary’s number? I think she’s legal,” Jack conspired. “I don’t know yet. Some place fancy.”

Owen waved off the offer of Lois’ number. “I shagged Suzie,” he waved his thumb toward the counter, “and she’s crazy. It’s making me doubt my choices for birds in the saddle.”

Ianto snorted. “I warned you, mate. She’s got a daddy complex.”

Owen shrugged. “How about that bird you were with yesterday morning?” he asked Jack. “She’s got some serious tits on her.”

Jack leaned back into his seat. He moved his hand from Ianto’s knee and rested his arm behind Ianto on the back of the couch instead. His smile spoke to his level of amusement.

“Who? Gwen? She’s my trainer. She’s about to be married, I think.”

Owen made a face and glared at the empty bottom of his coffee mug. “I’ve shagged married birds before. Not worth it. They’re always guilty and crying. Except Diane that nurse from OB YGN, remember her?”

Ianto laughed. “From residency? The one you shagged in the mop closet?”

Owen smiled, blissfully. “God, she was like a wet dream on legs.”

Jack chuckled and sipped his coffee. “She was married?”

“To our attending,” Ianto informed him, with a smirk. “He caught Owen and Diane in the closet by faking a page.”

Owen glared. “It wasn’t funny.”

“Hell, yes, it was. You came out of the closet with your scrubs around your knees only to get punched. I laughed so hard I nearly wet myself.”

“That’s because you’re a sadist.”

Jack found that he was more at ease with the two friends than he had been in years. He relaxed even further.

“Ha!” he exclaimed. Both men turned to him. “I don’t have heartburn!”

It was like someone had handed both Ianto and Owen a stethoscope. “Have you had it often?” Ianto asked, just as Owen asked “Has your GP prescribed you with anything?”

Jack waved both men off and grinned. His mobile began to ring. He grimaced and fished his phone out of his pocket.

Jack stared at the screen before silencing the phone and dropping it on the table before him. It vibrated across the wood, and then quit.

“You seeing anybody?” Jack asked Owen.

Owen looked at him like he was a moron. “You think I’m celibate by choice? Stupid hours at the hospital—“

The mobile on the table began to buzz again. Ianto calmly leaned over and scooped the phone before Jack could react.

He read the screen before answering the call. “Captain Harkness’ phone. May I take a message?”

Jack’s mouth hung open. From Ianto’s side, he could hear John raging. Jack reached for the mobile, but Ianto deftly shifted so his back was to Jack. Ianto’s voice took on an icy edge.

“You’re right, he’s unavailable at the current moment. I’m sure if you leave a message, he’ll call you back as soon as possible… No, I’m sorry, it’s a message or nothing… Right, well, your decision.” And Ianto cancelled the call.

He smiled sweetly at Jack. “So where are we going for dinner?”

Owen and Jack burst into laughter.


	5. Chapter Five

Dinner was at some trendy Japanese place near Hyde Park. Ianto had scallops in a spicy sauce that made Jack turn his nose up. Jack shared his sushi and plied Ianto with more and more sake.

Jack tried to hail a taxi, but Ianto pulled him by the arm and insisted that they take the Tube.

“And why are we doing this again?” Jack asked, annoyed as he squeezed past people onto the car.

Ianto smirked, cheekily. “Wait for it.” Moments later, the people in the car were jostled forward as they pulled into another stop. Ianto let his momentum force himself up against Jack. He winked.

Jack laughed, loudly. Other people looked at them. Ianto smiled, his eyes sparkling with delight. Jack pulled Ianto tightly against him, whether they were braking or not.

“Don’t you feel better? You reduced carbon emissions just then, Captain,” Ianto teased as they mounted the steps from their station.

Jack grabbed Ianto’s hand and tugged him along toward their building. “You know, some American record exec gave me a bottle of twenty year scotch. In honor of our work as environmental saviors, we should open it.”

Ianto’s eyes were bright with laughter and his cheeks pink from the alcohol from dinner. The night was brisk and their breath puffed around them.

“I’d like that,” Ianto confirmed, squeezing Jack’s hand.

Jack all but ran them home. The tumbled into the lift, giggling. The night guard watched them in a mix of concern and annoyance. Jack wiggled his fingers at him and Ianto covered his mouth as he giggled. The doors of the lift closed behind them as Ianto grabbed Jack in a messy kiss.

“I don’t move fast,” he gasped, kissing down Jack’s neck.

“I do,” Jack replied, and groaned as Ianto sucked on his Adam’s apple.

“This is new for me,” Ianto continued, as the floors moved past them.

“You’re doing great,” Jack moaned as Ianto ran his hands down the back of Jack’s trousers. The lift doors dinged and opened.

The two men spilled out into the empty hall, wrapped around one another, kissing and laughing as they tripped.

Jack disengaged one hand to fumble for his keys.

“Holy fuck,” came a voice from behind them. Expecting a disgusted homophobe, Jack grabbed Ianto and shoved his boyfriend behind him.

Instead, he was met with John Hart, leaned against his doorframe. He was clutching a bottle, still wrapped in paper from the off license, and his mobile.

“I’ve been calling you, Jack,” he pouted, before looking back at Ianto, “Been out having fun with Eye Candy here?”

Jack wrapped his arm around Ianto’s waist possessively. “I want you gone.”

John sighed expressively, and threw up his hands. “And I want Torched Wood to give me back the rights to that record, but these things don’t always work out.”

“Move,” Jack ordered, and shouldered his way toward the lock on his front door.

John shuffled back and glared at Ianto. Ianto looked back over his shoulder at John in confusion.

“You’re the bloke who made that really bad remake of ‘Can’t Buy Me Love,’ aren’t you?” he asked, drunkenly.

John glared. “It was artistic expression.”

“It was shit.”

“Ianto,” Jack barked, and pulled the other man into his flat.

John stepped forward as Jack was closing the door and wedged his boot in between it and the frame. “I came to crash on your couch.”

Jack raised his eyebrows. “Nice. Too bad you can’t. Go home, John.”

John leaned into the door with his shoulder, trying to force it open. “He’ll leave you!” he yelled into the flat. “He won’t stay! All the stars in the galaxy are at his fingertips when he’s with me! He could be an emperor with me!”

Ianto snorted and walked deeper into the flat, flicking on lights as he went.

Jack shoved the door again, but John refused to budge. “I’m calling the police, John. Again. That’s twice in one day.”

John glared. His nostrils flared. Slowly, without breaking eye contact with Jack, he backed up.

“Call me,” John demanded. Jack straightened, ignored the order, and shut the door. He secured all the locks as a precaution.

He sighed and went in search of Ianto. He found the other man in the kitchen, fumbling with Estelle’s Italian coffee maker.

“You know what this is?” Ianto exclaimed, excitedly, “it’s a Pasquini!”

Jack blinked. “You aren’t going to ask me about John?”

Ianto paused from his reverent stroking of the coffee maker. “What’s there to ask? You were with him, now you’re not. You brought me home with you for a glass of twenty-year-old scotch. Instead, I’m going to get you to fall in love with me through a cup of espresso.”

Jack blinked. “You’re making me a coffee?”

“And then I’m going sober up enough to fuck you. Between the two, I should have stolen your heart by tomorrow morning,” Ianto informed him, with a toothy grin.

Jack leaned back against his kitchen counter with a smile. “That’s your plan, then?”

Ianto nodded, earnestly. “Where are your coffee beans?”

“In the freezer.”

The look Ianto gave Jack spoke volumes about how he felt about this type of coffee care.

“What?” Jack asked with exaggerated innocence.

“How long has it been in there?” Ianto asked, opening the door.

“I don’t know. A while?”

Ianto looked annoyed. “More than a month?”

“Oh yeah.”

Ianto rolled his eyes and then looked around for the bag. “It’s Tesco brand!”

He grabbed the grounds and threw them into the bin without any concern for Jack’s complaints. Ianto grabbed his coat.

“C’mon, you,” he headed for the door to the flat. As he went, Jack could hear him mumbling about too-long-frozen-shit-tasting-coffee-grounds.

Jack chased him. “Ianto? Where are we headed?”

Ianto, standing outside the door to the flat, rolled his eyes. “To Myfanwy’s. We need beans.”

The air outside was even colder than their last walk. Ianto kept a running interview about Jack’s coffee preferences as they walked. He seemed more sober than before, but definitely in his own world. Jack, however, kept looking over his shoulder.

“What?” Ianto asked, the next time he saw Jack do so.

“I feel like someone is watching us,” Jack replied, who stopped and looked all around.

There was no one out at the late hour. Ianto rolled his eyes, grabbed Jack by the hand, and drug him toward the café.

The store was silent and eerie without the sound of customers and the coffee grinder. Ianto didn’t seem bothered as he selected a bag of appropriate beans. Jack stood by, with his hands in the pockets of his greatcoat as Ianto took what he wanted.

They locked up and headed back to the flat. Jack pulled Ianto close to him and kissed his ear. Ianto smiled and wrapped his own arm around Jack.

“Sorry about John,” Jack offered, but Ianto waved it away.

“You should be more sorry about the coffee. That was flagrant abuse to those beans,” Ianto tisked.

This ride up the lift was far more subdued, but they still got a look from the guard at the door. Jack unlocked his door and let Ianto in. This time, he watched his boyfriend as they entered.

“Your flat has the same floor plan,” Ianto noted, “but it’s about three of my places in one.”

Jack smiled and followed Ianto into the kitchen. He held out his hand for Ianto’s coat.

“Yeah, well, it’s the joys of the tax bracket. Also, I held some parties a few years back; I needed the space.”

Ianto watched Jack hang their coats, apparently forgetting about the newly acquired beans.

“Was fame and fortune all it was cracked up to be?” he asked. Jack noticed that Ianto’s gaze seemed to be fixated on his arse.

“Nah,” Jack replied, intentionally leaning down to pick up a non-existent piece of fluff. He knew that Ianto’s eyes followed him. “Lots of druggies and too skinny women.”

Ianto’s eyes seemed a bit glazed over, Jack noted with pleasure. “Like what you see?” he asked cheekily.

Ianto blinked rapidly and blushed. Jack grinned and leaned into Ianto’s personal space. Ianto, without missing a beat, grabbed Jack by his braces and hauled him closer. They kissed.

Only, it was something more magical. Jack had kissed people plenty. This was something cliché and yet, somehow, wonderful. He wanted to wrap the feeling around him and never let it go.

When they broke apart, Ianto ran his finger along the brace. “What’s the story with these?”

Jack cocked an eyebrow. “I really like fetish wear?” Ianto pulled the brace out and snapped it back onto Jack’s chest. Jack flinched, but laughed. “You still up for a ride on the Harkness?”

Ianto looked completely speechless. “The Harkness?”

Jack offered a wide, unapologetic grin. Ianto rolled his eyes. “Let’s go to bed, Jack.”

And Jack quit teasing. “I’m right behind you, Ianto.”

Somewhere down the hallway, they began to kiss and touch and rip at one another’s clothes. Braces, trousers, shirts, and vests followed them. Their first time was hurried, but explorative. Neither one wanted to give up dominance, but somehow it wasn’t really a power struggle.

Hours later, Jack stretched out across the bed, his legs tingling with the most recent round of exertion. Ianto tucked himself into Jack’s side. His head was wedged between Jack’s rib cage and his underarm. Both men were grinning.

“I think I should offend your coffee expertise more often,” Jack commented, reaching out blindly to pat at Ianto. His hands were uncoordinated with afterglow heaviness. Right then, he simply felt giddy.

Ianto snorted. Jack could feel Ianto smile against his skin.

Somewhere in the hall, Ianto’s mobile began to ring. Ianto offered a line of curses before he drug himself from the bed.

“Let it ring out,” Jack advised. He didn’t move.

“Nobody calls me this late,” Ianto replied, hunting through their discarded clothes. “It’s probably my sister with one of her kids. She calls me when they get sick.”

Jack rolled lazily onto his side. “Cause you’re a doctor.”

Ianto nodded. He finally found his phone. He answered it with triumph.

“Hello? Yes, this is he… Yes… oh God… oh God… I’ll be right there!” Ianto’s voice had taken on a desperate edge. Jack sat up in the bed.

“Ianto,” Jack asked, swinging his legs off the bed as he saw Ianto pulling on his pants, “what’s wrong?”

Ianto looked near tears. “Myfanwy’s is on fire.”


	6. Chapter Six

Ianto and Jack stood side by side. All around them, the fire brigade’s lights shone white and blue. The light reflected off the buildings and onto Ianto’s pale cheeks. Jack tugged Ianto closer. Ianto didn’t blink.

Myfanwy’s was nothing more than a smoldering, smoking shell of a building. The heat of the fire had brought down the roof. Behind the two men, Ianto’s three employees huddled.

“I don’t understand,” Beth cried, “who would do this?”

Andy huffed. “Suzie probably left the bloody bean roaster on again.”

Suzie denied it vehemently. Ianto ignored them all by hiding his face in Jack’s chest. Jack wrapped his arms around his boyfriend tighter.

“It will be alright,” he assured Ianto. Ianto laughed darkly.

Jack stroked Ianto’s hair. He barely let go of Ianto during his interview with the investigative chief of the fire brigade, or his discussion with his insurance agent.

Ianto never did stop wincing when the strong streams of water hit the ruins of his shop.

“You’ll be allowed in to look for valuables tomorrow,” the insurance agent assured him. “I’ll call you.”

Ianto nodded, his eyes never leaving his café.

Jack kissed Ianto’s cheek. “Let’s go home. There’s nothing else we can do here.” Ianto allowed himself to be led away.

They tumbled back into Jack’s bed, but they were far less joyful. Owen called a few hours later and offered his sympathy to Ianto. Gwen and Tosh called Jack, but he cited a family emergency and tugged Ianto closer to him.

They didn’t sleep, so much as clung to one another. “Now neither of us have jobs,” Ianto offered quietly.

Jack shook his head. “It’s not as bad as it seems. I’m selling Bad Wolf. Between that money, John’s assault charges, and your insurance claim we can get you back on your feet.” He rubbed at his jaw. It was still a little swollen.

Ianto’s head rested on Jack’s chest. He turned and peered up at Jack. “You’d do that?” He cleared his throat and clarified. “You’d loan me money?”

Jack smiled. “You wanted me in love with you. I’m not there yet, but it’s only been a few days. At this rate, I’ll be proposing by the end of the week.”

Ianto laughed, but it was a forced sound. His mobile rang. He glanced at the screen before accepting the call. Jack rested his hand on Ianto’s bicep as he spoke.

“Hi Rhia. No… no, I’m okay… yeah, the shop is gone… no, I’m not coming home,” Jack almost laughed at Ianto’s combined eye roll and put-upon tone. “No, I’m at Jack’s… no, Jack… no, you haven’t met him… it’s new… no,” Ianto smiled at Jack, “It’s good. He’s good for me.”

  
The siblings chatted on, but Jack excused himself. He smelled like fire. He climbed into the shower and found that some of the water that ran off his legs was actually black.

Clean and dry, he padded back into his bedroom. Ianto had made the bed and apparently reclaimed his denims. Jack grabbed his dressing gown, dropped his wet towel on the floor, and searched for Ianto.

There was a dry grinding sound echoing out of the kitchen. Ianto was apparently trying to master Estelle’s old coffee machine. Jack pulled out a bar stool and sat to watch Ianto work. He noted, absently, that the roses Ianto had given him were lying wilted on the counter. It was too late to save them, he suspected.

“I think Owen was serious about opening a clinic,” Ianto began, not looking at Jack. “He’s been after me for a while.”

Jack propped his elbows on the counter. “How do you feel about that?”

Ianto shrugged. “You could open another coffee shop,” Jack offered.

Ianto shook his head and began to manipulate levers and buttons on the coffee pot. “No. Myfanwy is dead. That’s a dead dream.”

Jack closed his eyes at the bitterness in Ianto’s tone. “I’ll go back into surgery. Maybe Owen is right.”

Suddenly, the roses weren’t a lost cause. Jack jumped up and located a vase. He filled it with water and began to wrestle the plastic wrapping off the flowers.

“Jack,” Ianto interrupted, sadly, “I think they’re dead.”

“Sometimes,” Jack mused, tucking a drooping flower into the vase, “dead things just need some TLC. Like in _The_ _Princess_ _Bride_ , sometimes they’re just mostly dead.”

Jack offered Ianto a pointed look, forcing him to see the metaphor. Ianto smiled, tiredly.

“Maybe so,” he replied. “But even then they needed some sort of magic to live again.”

Jack leaned over and pressed a kiss to Ianto’s shoulder. “I hear that love is magic.”

Ianto stared at Jack with blatant disbelief. “What are you? A sappy movie?”

Jack offered a million-watt grin and carried the full vase to the center of his bar area. Ianto’s mobile rang again. He answered it one handed. He began to speak professionally, so Jack excused himself to get dressed. As he was buttoning his shirt, Ianto entered the bedroom, an espresso in each hand, and broken expression on his face. Jack moved to him.

“They’ve arrested someone for arson,” Ianto stared at Jack. “It was Hart, your client.”

Jack sat down on the bed in surprise. “No.”

Ianto and he stared at one another, both unable to come to terms with the news.


	7. Chapter Seven

_Seven months later_

Jack tugged on his tie as he exited the court. As the silk separated into two ends, the press surrounded Jack. They shoved their cameras and microphones into his face and asked questions. They wanted to know about John and the proceedings, but he ignored them all and forged his way into the men’s WC.

“Ianto?” he called, once inside.

“Mr. Harkness, just a quote?” questioned one of the reporters who had followed him into the bathroom.

Jack swung around, teeth bared angrily. “Sure, cowboy. I’m about to take a piss. That’s your quote… and it’s _Captain_ Harkness.”

The reporter grinned, trying for charm, and stepped back. “I’ll just wait then.”

Jack glared before marching deeper into the loo. “Ianto?” he called again.

“Here,” came the despondent reply from one of the toilet stalls.

Jack stood outside it and placed his hand over the top of the door. “You ok?”

“I want this to be over,” Ianto replied, his voice flat and broken. “John just insinuated that I slept with you that night keep the two of you apart.”

“I know,” Jack replied, and dropped his head forward so that his forehead rested on the door. “We’ll get through this.”

Ianto reached over the door and touched Jack’s hand. He was apparently using the toilet for a hiding place only.

The latch on the stall opened and Jack stepped back. Ianto looked drawn. His skin seemed gray in the industrial lights. The days in the spotlight of the press had led to sleepless nights and corresponding dark circles under his eyes. He appeared to have lost weight. Just the sight of his lover’s appearance made guilt and heartburn flare.

“C’mon, Ianto,” Jack said softly, guiding Ianto by the arm. “Let’s get out of here.”

“We aren’t done, are we?” Ianto asked, concerned.

“Sure we are. That’s why we hired Charlie, remember?” Jack smiled, and then stuck his arm out tautly to keep the press back. “Excuse us.”

“We just want some insight to the inside of the court—“ the reporter began, but Jack shoved past him, pulling Ianto along with him.

Jack guided his partner through the flashbulbs and questions to a taxi. The driver looked a little alarmed at the circus that was swarming his customers, but drove when told to.

Jack directed the driver to their hotel and paid the man quickly. Cameras and reporters were waiting for them here, as well. Several bellboys worked as bouncers to get Ianto and Jack into the lobby safely. Once inside, Ianto leaned against Jack tiredly.

“When this is over,” he began, but let his sentence drift away.

“We’re moving into that new build over Cardiff Bay,” Jack reminded him, with a drawn smile.

Cardiff had become some sort of escape for both of them. They spoke of the new life they had waiting for them as if it were some sort of reward for escaping the madness of the John Hart arson/assault trial.

Charles Gaskell, the men’s attorney, had theorized that through combining the trials, the Crown could make a stronger case against John. In doing so, the Crown was able to show that John burned Myfanwy’s to hurt Jack by proxy through his partner.

The trial was sickening. The Crown showed the photographs of John’s sex exploits in Cambodia and his criminal record to create a profile of the sort of man the musician was. In retaliation, John’s attorneys attacked Jack and Ianto’s characters. They went so far as to give John a psychological evaluation that showed that the man was completely sane. They compared their study to psychological tests given during Ianto’s time as a doctor; the results of which showed that he was grief and guilt stricken.

“Dr. Jones left his practice because suicidal tendencies are not acceptable in his line of work, is that not true?” the attorneys had quizzed their witness.

The questions seemed to force Ianto into darkness. His health failed, his good humor disappeared. Months ago, Ianto was reminding Jack to live his life outside his job; now, Jack seemed to be fighting a losing battle to save Ianto’s sanity.

The couple ascended the lift silently. Ianto stared straight ahead, sightlessly. Jack watched his partner’s profile.

“I think I’ll order us a pizza,” Jack suggested, brightly. “We’ll lay around and watch old movies? What do you think?”

Ianto’s lip twitched. “I’m pretty tired.”

Jack closed his eyes, defeated. “All you do is sleep. It’s not good for you.”

The lift chimed and they exited to their room. Before the door, a man stood. Jack slowed, and prepared to force Ianto behind him to escape another reporter. Then the man turned.

“Owen!” Ianto exclaimed and hurried forward. Jack relaxed.

Owen offered his hand and once Ianto grasped it for a tight shake, the doctor tugged his friend into a hug.

“You bastard,” Owen snarked, “took me forever to convince the fucking hotel staff that Jack invited me.”

Ianto whipped around and smiled at Jack. “You brought him here?”

Jack shrugged and dug out his room key. “You’ve been so down, I thought it might help.”

“I could use a mini-holiday anyway,” Owen asserted, and he followed Jack into the suite. He gave a long whistle. “Well isn’t this swank?”

“Didn’t you hear?” Jack asked with heavy sarcasm. “It was only all over the papers. I sold my place and I’m moving to Wales.”

“The press swarmed my flat,” Ianto offered. “We packed it up and moved in here. At least here we have people to help keep the media back.”

Owen dropped his bag on the floor next to the sofa. “You look like shit,” he announced, looking at Ianto.

Ianto shrugged. Jack stuck his hands in his pockets and watched the conversation with veiled interest.

“No,” Owen said, approaching his friend, “seriously, mate, you haven’t looked this bad since you left medicine and lost Lisa. What’s going on?”

Ianto ran a hand through his hair. “It’s this fucking trial. Everything that Jack and I haven’t told each other yet, it’s aired for the whole fucking country to hear. And that dickwad just sits there in his box watching the news affect us. It’s like he’s not even on trial.”

Jack started uncomfortably. That’s what this was about?

“I would have told you about Grey—“ he began.

Ianto interrupted. “I know that, Jack! In time, we would have had a chance to. Instead, you get to hear about my fucking deadbeat tad and sivved off mam, about being raised by my sister and then by five different fosters, about the Oshodi’s, about Adeola, about my fuck ups in uni, and Lisa, and all that other shit from someone else!”

Jack moved his hands from his pockets and instead crossed his arms. 

Ianto continued. “There were things I wanted to tell you, Jack, but I never got a chance. Instead you got to hear about me planning to slit my wrists in Owen’s loo through a goddamn attorney!”

Owen groaned. “I need a drink.” He strode over to the minibar and grabbed a small assortment of alcohol. He dumped the multiple miniature bottles on the coffee table.

“I did not come here to be a couple’s therapist,” he snapped, as he wrenched off the lid to a bottle of whiskey. “Get over here and start drinking.”

Ianto dropped onto the couch and selected a scotch. He tossed it to Jack before he grabbed vodka for himself.

“You’ll puke if you drink too much of that,” Owen scolded him.

“Maybe I want to,” Ianto taunted and threw back his head to empty the bottle.

Jack pulled off his jacket and unbuttoned his shirt collar. Then, he settled onto the floor with his back braced against the couch. “Nobody wants to puke,” he replied, sipping the scotch. Somehow it tasted better from a glass.

“Shit,” Owen grumbled to Ianto, “if you’re going to be an whiny, emo arse while we drink then you can just stop now. Is there room service in this swank place?” He located the menu and hotel telephone on his own. “You wankers want anything?”

As Owen placed their orders, Jack let his head fall back against the couch. He’s slept here the last few nights. Their relationship had been stretched too thin to be close. Lying side-by-side in the bed was just too intimate for them when nothing else was. There was another bed, but somehow, sleeping there seemed to be a defeat. It wasn’t like he was sleeping anyway.

He closed his eyes and wondered if things would ever be right again, or if John Hart had destroyed this relationship too. Maybe it would just fall apart at the end of the trial.

Then Ianto began to card his fingers through Jack’s hair. Jack opened his eyes quickly and met Ianto’s gaze. Owen hung up and then flopped onto the couch. He opened a bottle indiscriminately and flicked on the telly.

The news clicked on. A reporter droned on, but the photograph clearly showed John Hart kissing on one of the jury member’s necks.

“It is reported that this development will lead to the case being dismissed until a new jury can be called—“

“Fuck!” Jack yelled, as he jumped to his feet. He grabbed his mobile and dialed Charles. Over his shoulder, he heard Owen address Ianto.

Owen paused from sipping his bottle. “This is a sign,” he commented, looking to his friend.

“Oh?” Ianto asked, sounding dull and lifeless.

“Yes,” Owen decided, holding out his tiny bottle to toast Ianto, “it’s time to go to Cardiff and live, mate.”

Jack paused in his conversation with his attorney to face the two men on the sofa. Ianto looked thoughtfully from the television screen, to Jack on his mobile, to Owen offering a toast.

“Cheers,” he offered, before smiling at Jack and emptying the bottle in his hand.


	8. Chapter Eight

_Six weeks later_

Opening a coffee shop was serious business. Jack had no clue. When he had begun to badger Ianto into reopening Myfanwy’s, Ianto had been slow to agree.

On their third day since their abrupt move to Cardiff, they’d been walking the Plass. In the middle of the multiple shops was a space to let. Ianto had looked at the square footage, the amenities, before turning to Jack with a quizzical face.

“Were you serious about being my coffee shop manager?”

And so The Hub was opened.

Jack had helped carry sofas and coffee bean roasters. He had interviewed possible employees and laundered aprons. He had spell-checked beverages for Ianto to transcribe onto the drink list. He had learned to bake scones.

And then he’d been completely overwhelmed by the entire experience. In its favor, however, the coffee shop had brought Ianto back to him. Perhaps it was the fresh start or all the work to be done, but The Hub had revived Ianto. 

Jack knew, for sure, that things were on their way to being mended when Ianto came home one night bearing a bouquet of red roses.

“I’ve been a complete prat,” Ianto began, offering the flowers. “I am so sorry.”

Jack smiled indulgently and kissed Ianto within a breath of his life. “Can we have make up sex then?”

And Ianto had laughed.

Jack was won over anew. He sometimes felt like he followed his partner around like a lovesick puppy. Ianto would roast and boil and bake, all while commanding his shop like a well-oiled machine. Jack would just take the orders and smile lovingly at the other man. Their employees and regulars teased.

Jack didn’t care.

The bell over the shop door had survived Myfanwy’s fire and still dinged pleasantly when the door opened.

At its chime, Jack looked up. Aaron and Harriet, their employees, were squabbling over who would make this round of drinks and who would take their break. Jack made the decision for them both.

“Tosh!” he yelled, and jumped clear over the counter.

Toshiko giggled like a little girl when Jack swung her up in his arms. “Hello, Jack,” she greeted breathlessly.

“Less of that, mate, if you don’t mind,” Owen Harper sniped from Jack’s side. Jack offered his hand and the two men shook.

Jack was baffled by the doctor’s comment. Then it caught on. “Tosh, aww… no, not _him_?” And he cocked his thumb in Owen’s direction.

Tosh blushed. “He’s clever. You know how I fall over myself for boys like that.”

“Oi!” Owen snapped, annoyed. “I was a boy about twenty years ago. I assure you that none of me is boy sized—“

“Except maybe your height,” Ianto teased as he joined the trio. He hugged Owen and kissed Tosh’s cheek. “Good to see you again.”

“Can we get you a coffee?” Jack asked with exuberance.

“Down boy,” Ianto ordered, touching Jack’s shoulder.

“What is that baking? It smells amazing,” Tosh asked, leading the men to the till.

“Cinnamon coffee cake. Would you like a slice?” Ianto asked, walking around the counter.

“It’s not good without coffee,” Jack teased when Tosh nodded.

“Get me the usual, Doctor Tea Boy!” Owen yelled as he claimed a table for the four friends.

Conversation flowed easily and then Ianto made a decision.

“Aaron! Harriet! Close out the till and let’s call it a day.” He smiled. “It’s a beautiful evening. Why waste it?”

Aaron didn’t hesitate; grabbing a rag, he began to clean off the tables.

“Perfect! We’re in town for a record party. I want you both to come,” Tosh invited, swirling the dregs of her coffee.

Jack fidgeted and wracked his brain for an excuse.

“Would this party require Jack to get dressed up?” Ianto asked innocently.

“Oh, yes,” Tosh agreed. “Very smart: tuxedo quality.”

Ianto’s eyes glazed over as he apparently fantasized about Jack in a tuxedo.

“I guess that settles that,” Jack grumbled. “What time?”

“The whole thing begins at seven, but you know these music industry people. The real party won’t begin until ten or eleven,” Tosh answered, rolling her eyes.

“It won’t be a late one,” Jack interrupted, “we have a shop to open bright and early.”

Tosh shrugged. “Sure, whatever. I just wanted to see you both. Shall we meet at the St. David’s at eight?”

Ianto nodded and then excused himself to help close up.

The party was just like every other record party Jack had ever been to. The real stars hadn’t arrived just yet, but it didn’t seem to bother Ianto. He had dug out what Jack had dubbed his “cute suit” for the occasion and had spent the entire ride to the hotel avoiding Jack’s groping hands.

He, on the other hand, had continuously found reasons to touch Jack. “Your tie isn’t straight” or “you have fuzz on your shoulder.” Jack wasn’t buying it. He wasn’t complaining either.

Owen accepted a glass of champagne from the waiter and tugged at his collar. “I hate these things.”

Ianto shrugged and accepted the flute that Jack had procured for him. Behind them there was a commotion at the door. Tosh gasped.

John Hart, looking strung out, waltzed into the party. Every bit of him screamed rock star—leather trousers, silk shirt, and too-sharp cheekbones. He had clearly lost weight, but not in a healthy way. Instead of looking trim, he looked emaciated. Jack remembered the same look when their five-year relationship had gone down in flames.

John had a naïve blonde on his arm. She looked around the room with wide eyes and giggled.

John grabbed a bottle of champagne from the waiter and took a long swig from it. He offered the bottle to the girl. She grasped the bottle with both hands and her eyes widened in surprise as she drank.

John looked at her in disinterest before scanning the room. Next to Jack, Ianto had stilled. He gripped Jack’s arm unconsciously.

“Let’s go,” Jack ordered and set his champagne down on a nearby table. Ianto merely nodded and followed suit.

John had seen them already, however, and tugging his girl along behind him, made his way over to them.

“Jack! Jack Harkness!” John stood too close to Jack and grinned like a predator with cornered prey. “You let me get the answering machine last time. Who knew? Me? Getting the machine!”

People were beginning to stare. Tosh shifted uncomfortably, and Owen puffed up visibly. The blonde on John’s arm squirmed.

“John,” she whispered, loudly. She seemed to be confused on what to do with the giant bottle in her hands. “You said you were going to give my demo to people.”

John looked at her as if seeing her for the first time. He whipped around.

“Harold!” he yelled. A man in a suit turned and looked at John with a very over the top “who-me?” “Harold Saxon this is… Suzie? Mercy?”

“I’m Lucy!” the girl protested.

“Right, like I said. Lucy. She wants to be a star. I’m sure you can help her.” He shoved Lucy at Harold. He turned back to Jack without another thought to the girl.

“We were just leaving,” Ianto spat. “Busy morning tomorrow.”

“Oh? Doing what exactly?” John asked, reaching out to trace his finger down Ianto’s cheek.

Ianto hastily stepped back. Jack locked eyes with John.

“We’re happy here, John. Leave us alone,” he growled.

“Yeah,” John said with a sarcastic laugh, “I heard you opened a coffee shop again. Don’t leave anything burning this time, huh?”

It was the final straw for Jack. He grabbed Ianto’s hand and the two men headed for the door.

John ran after them. “You two should come back to mine. Just like old times, Jack, we can share Eye Candy here. Yummy.”

Ianto turned, startled, as Jack wasted no time in punching John. “Stay the fuck away from us,” he commanded in a low growl.

The taxi ride home was tense. The red light was off, but even knowing that the cab driver couldn’t hear them wasn’t enough reason to loosen Ianto’s lips on the topic. Jack worried that Ianto would slip back into that dark hole he was in a month before. Ianto gazed out the window as Cardiff drifted by before he met Jack’s gaze in the reflection.

“We should go dancing,” he offered. “We’re already dressed.”

Surprised, Jack laughed. “Any other time, babe, I’ll swing you around the dance floor. God, people would be so jealous of me I’d have to carry a gun.”

Ianto faced him in the taxi suddenly. “You own a gun, right?”

Jack’s brow knit. “Yeah, sure, why?”

Fear glinted in Ianto’s eyes, but only for a moment. “He burned Myfanwy’s. He might up his ante this time.”

Jack shook his head. “Don’t worry about it, Ianto. Nothing will come of this.”


	9. Chapter Nine

Jack and Ianto drug themselves from their warm bed into the freezing Cardiff predawn. The party the night before was well and truly forgotten after a long, sweaty sex session and a good night’s sleep.

Jack opened the driver’s door and handed Ianto the ice scraper.

“Oh thank you,” Ianto snarked, before moving around the front of the vehicle to scrape the windscreen.

Jack climbed behind the wheel and started the engine. The radio blared on and he moved quickly to snap it off. It was too early for that shit. He adjusted the heating vents to warm the iced windscreen before he grabbed his travel mug and took a long sip of coffee.

Mornings like this were the hardest, Ianto assured him. There was something perverse about going to work when it was so dark and cold. They deserved some sort of award for their sacrifice.

Their flat was housed in a very affluent building called SkyPoint. The flats all offered views and the feeling of grandeur that Ianto still seemed uncomfortable with. Besides that, he seemed very nervous about the lift there for some reason.

The building had underground parking with numbered spaces. Jack’s new black SUV took up far too much space, but since Ianto was without a vehicle, it wasn’t too much of a problem. The car park was empty of people most mornings. Sometimes the couple ran into a street sweeper or a fellow tenant stumbling home from a late night, but more often than not, it was just them.

That’s why when Jack heard an engine revving; he set his coffee aside and looked around. Ianto was walking around the back of the SUV to scrape the back window before moving onto his side of the windscreen. The engine revving abruptly stopped and then there was the squeal of tyres.

An instructor in the RAF told Jack that his combat training would never leave him. He just needed to remain open to the input he was receiving.

The hair on the back of Jack’s neck stood on end. He jumped out of the car and ran around the back. A red sports car was barreling toward Ianto. Ianto, half asleep, bounced to keep himself warm as he scraped. Jack threw himself at Ianto and the two men rolled across the cold concrete. Jack covered Ianto protectively with his body.

The red car screeched and plowed into the SUV with a sickening crunch. Jack jumped up grabbing Ianto and shoving him behind him.

“Get behind the pillar!” he yelled, and pushed Ianto toward the concrete support beam.

The red sports car backed up and rammed into another parked car as it did so. Jack ran forward trying to see the driver, but the sports car sped out the other direction. Jack chased it, but gave it up as a bad job.

He jogged back to Ianto, grateful for those days of training with Gwen. Ianto was on his mobile, apparently speaking to the police. Jack reached into the SUV and turned off the engine.

“I guess we’ll be a little delayed with the coffee beans this morning,” he mused.

After their reports were given, Jack excused himself to run up to the flat. Ianto was signing off for the tow truck to take the SUV; Jack was certain that would keep him busy. Jack entered his office and opened his desk drawer. He lifted the false bottom and stared at the contents. He wanted to pretend that today was coincidence, but he didn’t believe in them. John had done this, either himself or paid someone to assist him.

Jack reached into the drawer and retrieved his grandfather’s World War I Webley Revolver. He’d had his own service revolver back during his RAF days, but the military didn’t give away weapons anymore. Jack loaded the gun carefully and checked the safety before retrieving his shoulder holster from the drawer.

He slid the gun and holster under his light jacket, and then put his greatcoat back on. Jack rubbed his hand through his hair. John wouldn’t really kill Ianto, would he?

Memories flooded him suddenly. That stripper—that poor girl—strangled to death. John had sworn he was too stoned to remember, but Jack knew the other man. John said he didn’t remember the incident, but his eyes had glimmered. He had known what he was doing.

If Jack had told anyone what he knew in his gut, then Ianto wouldn’t be in danger now. He closed his eyes in regret. The trial that had been dismissed for jury tampering had been just another failure. He should have taken Ianto to France or Australia. No, no place on this planet was safe with John.

His mobile buzzed and Jack jumped. He forced himself to take a deep breath before reading the text.

_The taxi is here. Should I go on without you?_

_no!_

Jack ran to the lift in a near panic. Ianto was waiting for him in the taxi. He smiled sweetly and pulled Jack closer on the seat.

  
“I’m freezing,” he laughed, and burrowed into Jack’s arms.

The drive to the café was quick, and, thankfully, warm. Jack stood guard, looking over the darkened Plass as Ianto paid the driver. Any noise, any movement caused Jack to reach for his gun. Ianto stared at his worriedly as he unlocked the shop.

“Jack?” he asked, concerned. “Are you all right?”

Jack opened the door and shooed Ianto into the café. The lights came on slowly. Jack was tense until he could see everything in the room.

Ianto laid his hand on Jack’s arm. Jack nearly jumped again. Ianto looked worried.

“Do you want to go home? You’re really shaken up; I’ll be fine here—“

“No,” Jack replied adamantly, “I’m not leaving you alone.”

Ianto touched Jack’s cheek and then helped him out of his greatcoat. “Let’s go make breakfast.”

The morning bustle helped ease Jack’s nerves. Even still, he knew that Ianto had made out the shape of the gun under his jacket. He cursed Ianto’s observant nature. With Aaron and Harriet there, however, Ianto didn’t bring it up. It was probably for the best.

The bell above the door offered a cheery ding at about nine that morning. The morning’s heavy rush had died down, but there was still a queue and people sitting in the café. The room smelled of baked goods and coffee.

And then people began to scream.

John Hart stood at the door with a large gun in his hand. “Jack!” he yelled.

Jack ran from the table he was serving toward the front of the café. Aaron had forced some customers behind the sofa, and Harriet was crawling behind the counter into the roasting room, already on her mobile with the police.

Ianto, however, was next to the door. He still had a loaded tray in his hands. The two women he was delivering the coffee and breakfast to sobbed in fear.

Jack slowed and held Ianto’s eye. He tried to will Ianto to hide. John sneered once he saw Jack’s gaze. He grabbed Ianto and shoved the muzzle of the gun against Ianto’s temple.

“Maybe now you’ll want to spend time with me!” John walked Ianto forward. The mugs on the tray trembled. Ianto didn’t break eye contact with Jack as he was mouthing the same phrase again and again.

“I’ll do whatever you say,” Jack said, raising his hands. “Please let him go.”

John waved the gun as if he were gesturing. “This is all some sort of joke—like a cosmic joke! We’re just here, Jack. We’re here to live and fuck and make music. But you don’t want that anymore, and I just don’t get why.”

Ianto was watching the gun. Jack began to silently plead with Ianto to stay still. Ianto had other ideas. John waved the gun to the ceiling and Ianto slammed the tray into John’s gut. Hot coffee and dishes spilled all over the musician. Without waiting for the response, Ianto ran into Jack’s arms. Jack threw the two of them down behind the till counter. They were too far away to make it most of the way, however, and their lower bodies were in the walkway.

Ianto scrambled backward, walking like a crab, and tugging Jack by his arms. John raged and began to shoot. Glass in the bakery case exploded. Mugs broke and plates shattered. Customers cried out in terror. Then the firing stopped. Jack drew his gun and cocked it.

Ianto looked deathly pale once Jack turned the handle to Ianto.

“Just point and shoot,” he explained.

“Oi! Eye Candy! Come back out here and play!” John yelled, before releasing another volley of bullets.

Customers begged to be let go. Jack ignored them all. Ianto’s hands shook.

“I took a vow of ‘do no harm,’ Jack,” Ianto whispered.

Jack grit his teeth. “You have foresworn everything else to do with being a doctor!”

John came around the counter and pointed his weapon at the back of Jack’s head. Jack tucked his gun back into jacket and hoped that John hadn’t seen.

“Jackie! Stand up and let’s go! We’re going to Virgin Islands. You always said you wanted to go. We were going to go for our five year anniversary, remember?” John helped Jack up by pulling on his arm.

Jack came, slowly, not doubting that John would shoot. Then, once Jack was standing, John turned the gun back on Ianto.

“Bye, bye Eye Candy!”

John fired.

Jack’s bullet met John’s skull a millisecond later. John was dead before he hit the floor. It had taken skill to jump in front of John’s gun and shoot simultaneously. Jack slumped to the ground, holding his left shoulder as blood pumped out under his hand. He dropped his gun.

Ianto, however, sprang into action. He rushed to Jack, not as a panicking lover, but as a competent doctor. He pulled back the jacket and began to apply towels to the wound.

“Jack, I need you to lay down, please, and take deep breaths. Aaron! Get something to prop Jack’s legs up with. Harriet, call an ambulance.” Ianto gave orders with an even and commanding voice. He didn’t seem to notice that he was sitting in Jack and John’s blood.

Jack observed all this, trying to stay calm himself. Then he remembered Ianto, as a hostage, repeating words that he’d never said before.

“Ianto,” Jack whispered. Ianto continued to apply pressure. He smiled.

“You’re going to be fine, Jack. Just hang on for me, ok?”

“Ianto,” Jack repeated, “I need to tell you something.”

Someone brought Ianto a pair of scissors. Without permission, he cut through Jack’s holster and shirtsleeve.

“Ianto,” Jack said again, louder.

“I’m right here, Jack, I need you to stay calm.”

Jack rolled his eyes. “I’m trying to tell you that I love you too, Ianto.”

Ianto smiled and kissed Jack’s forehead. “Good to know. Now, don’t pass out.”


	10. Chapter Ten

Jack hated the smell of hospitals. He lay back on his hospital appointed linens and pouted. Ianto sat in the provided armchair at his side, reading the newspaper.

“The insurance agency seems to be a little frustrated at us,” Ianto commented, while turning the page of his paper. “They want to know if we plan to open another coffee shop. I don’t think they’ll cover us if we do.”

Jack grimaced. “There’s nothing wrong with The Hub. It’ll just need cleaned.”

“And have the bullet holes plastered over,” Ianto added sotto voce, as he closed his paper.

“It wouldn’t be too much work,” Jack decided.

  
Ianto shook his head. “It’s not worth the bad memories, Jack. No, I figure if you want another shop we’ll find another store front and name it ‘Third Times a Charm.’”

Jack glared. “That’s not funny.”

Ianto reached out and patted Jack’s hand. “Actually, there’s an opening in Oncologist surgery here.” He looked thoughtful. “I am considering applying.”

Jack stared. “But you’ve always seemed so set against it.”

Ianto smiled and stroked his hand up to Jack’s shoulder. “And then you got hurt. I forgot the rush I get when I’m saving someone’s life.”

“Yeah,” Jack grumbled, “not to be confused with the rush of being shot.”

Ianto stroked back Jack’s hair tenderly. “You just had to be the big hero. Thank you though, I am grateful.”

Jack gave up on being grumpy and leaned into Ianto’s touch.

“Tosh brought by the post. You have a million cards,” Ianto pointed to the pile on the side table. “I think that you might have a marriage proposal or two in there as well.”

Jack chuckled and reached up to clasp Ianto’s hand in his own. “Who wouldn’t want me? I’m gorgeous, even with a hole in my shoulder.”

Ianto rolled his eyes. “The hole is patched.” He slid some of the post over to Jack. “Here’s one from your old trainer. Let’s see what she says, hmm?”

“Tosh always swore Gwen was in love with me,” Jack commented, and he leaned around to see the card.

_A year later_

Gwen Cooper’s wedding was quite a spectacle. Rhys Williams smiled and looked lovingly at his new wife. Gwen grumped and moaned. (Of course, it was probably due to wearing heels while eight months pregnant, but who knew.)

Ianto had to physically hold his partner into his chair when the minister asked if anyone wanted to break up the wedding.

“I’ve always wanted to be the one who runs down the aisle and stops the wedding,” he laughed.

The women behind them shushed them. Jack glared.

“Yes, but if you do then Gwen will declare her undying love for you,” Tosh whispered.

They were seated together, with Tosh near the aisle and Owen and Ianto sitting next to one another. Jack claimed the seat near the window so as he could look out if he got bored.

The ceremony itself ended quickly, but then left plenty of time to listen to all the gossip during the reception.

“Of course she’s pregnant!” The groom’s mother cried. “Big as a house, too! I doubt it’s even my Rhys’! Just a common tart, she is!”

The buzz of the room lowered to listen to the woman list of her complaints. Jack and Owen, both with a drink in hand, watched the ensuing yelling match between mother and son as if they were watching a sports match.

“So glad my mother wants nothing to do with me,” Owen commented.

“I am so grateful that mine is on another continent,” Jack agreed.

They both winced when Brenda Williams slapped her son. Gwen entered the fray and the yelling went up in volume. Jack led them back to their table. Tosh was nibbling on a finger sandwich and nursing a vodka tonic. Ianto seemed to be tuning out the row as he sipped his lager.

“I bloody hate weddings,” commented the ginger woman seated at their table. She was Scottish, as far as Jack could tell. “I swear, you tell me that you’re taking me somewhere nice, but, instead, I end up at a wedding!”

She hit the man next to her on the leg. “Oww!” man yelped.

“Serves you right,” she continued, annoyed. She took a large swig of her drink, something straight, Jack noted amused.

“I’m Dr. John Smith,” the man offered, rubbing his leg.

“Small world,” Jack noted, “I knew a Dr. John Smith back in university. He was older than you, and had crazy hair.”

The man across from Jack patted his hair to ensure it was behaving. “Not me, I’m afraid. I only get bad hair if I come in contact with a fez.”

“I’m Amy Pond,” the woman at his side introduced. “My husband Rory is around here somewhere. He loves a good family row though, so he's probably being a spectator.”

“What do you specialize in?” Owen asked, apparently trying to make small talk. According to his facial expression, however, he couldn’t care less.

“Oh me? Emergencies mostly.” The man took a sip of his wine before grinning. “And you lot, what do you do?”

Tosh laughed, amused. “I’m in the entertainment industry, but I’m selling the company to go back into nuclear consulting.”

Amy and Dr. Smith both looked confused at the correlation between the two jobs. “My friend here,” she introduced Owen, “is in the middle of opening his own private practice as a surgeon.”

“I couldn’t stand the hospital anymore, unlike this sad sod,” Owen explained, looking at Ianto.

Ianto laughed. “I find the hospital more organized that I remember. I’m happy.”

“You’re a doctor, too?” Amy clarified.

“Yep,” Ianto replied, before touching Jack’s arm. “And Jack is writing a book.”

Jack grinned. “That’s his polite way of saying that I still haven’t found a job and am living on my retirement hedge fund.”

Amy began to agree that was the way to live when someone pushed the DJ into the punchbowl. The bride roared with anger before turning on her husband and beating him in the chest with her bouquet.

“Some wedding,” Ianto noted.

“I’m never getting married,” Owen agreed.

Jack put his arm around Ianto and watched the fight escalate when the bride’s mother joined in. Tosh took a slow sip from her drink as she watched one of the bridesmaids slip in the puddle of punch and fall to the floor.

“I don’t think this could get more entertaining,” Jack mused, rubbing Ianto’s neck.

“Oh, I’m sure it could,” Ianto replied, facing Jack. “Maybe Gwen is actually pregnant with an alien fetus.”

Owen laughed outright. Tosh rolled her eyes and stood for another drink.

“Actually,” Jack replied, cocking his head to examine Gwen, “I think she is.”

A man, presumably Rory, came and guided Amy and the Doctor out, avoiding the fistfight that had broken out between the groomsmen. Owen glanced back at Tosh before grabbing his keys.

“We’re out too. See you two next time you drop by London, yeah?”

Ianto agreed, and pulled Owen into a one armed hug, Jack stood and shook his hand. The two of them grabbed a drink from the open bar and ducked out the back door. Jack looked around at the quickly emptying reception.

“Shall we get going then?” he asked.

The groom’s father yelled and flung a centerpiece at his wife. “Yeah, I guess we had better.”

They walked out, avoiding a bridesmaid’s flying handbag, and Ianto stuck his hands in his pockets.

Jack glanced over at Ianto. “I’ve been thinking about a holiday,” he said offhandedly.

“Yeah?” Ianto appeared to be calculating his number of leave hours in his head.

“I was thinking the British Virgin Islands, maybe. We could lay out all day, get thrown off the public beach for being indecent, get sand in unlikely places…”

Ianto grinned. “That could be fun.”

Jack smiled affectionately at his companion. “Yeah, it could.”

The walked to the car quietly, and as Ianto opened the driver’s door he commented, “I could use a coffee.”

Jack nodded in agreement. “Me too.” He was thoughtful for a moment. “Know any coffee shops around here?”

FIN


End file.
